


The Journalist: Epilogue

by lettalady



Series: The Journalist [3]
Category: British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 21:09:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3303518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettalady/pseuds/lettalady





	The Journalist: Epilogue

It’s your night to play host. It just so happens to be the day before his birthday, and you’ve hatched a plan – an announcement that you hope will make his birthday. He’s been celebrating all week, and tomorrow will surely consist of party after event after party to celebrate with friends and family – but tonight is just the pair of you.

Months have passed since The Incident, months of couples therapy and recompense for the leaked texts and stolen photos. Finally it has become old news – the gossip columns have moved on to the next big scandal to rock the scene. It’s been months of living apart and making the middling to long commute between the two dwellings. Months of him asking when you’ll finally relent and come home. Months of you telling him to be patient.

You smile as you scoop the servings out onto the two plates. Tom had called to let you know he was parking and on his way up. Soon you’ll be hearing all about his day – maybe waiting until after dinner to reveal your news. After dessert seems best. You’ll tell him you’ve decided not to renew your lease and see what his reaction will be. At best, his offer for you to move back in with him still stands. At worst, you’ll use this opportunity to find a place closer to his and the pair of you can continue to work on ironing out the lumps in the relationship.

True, he’s never stopped calling his home “ours” but after months of responses in the negative he seems to have given up asking. He hasn’t asked in at least a week, maybe two.

The sound of his key grinding in the lock announces his arrival, followed by the thump and scrape of the front door yielding under Tom’s applied weight. That’s something you won’t miss about this apartment, the way the damned door sticks regardless of the weather conditions.

“Hullo!” He calls out to you, pausing in the entryway to heave the door shut again. “Erngh. I swear one day I’m going to take this damned thing off its hinges and make it so it’s not so impossible to move.”

Your grin grows a bit and you almost let slip your decision not to renew your lease, but no – the announcement can wait until after dinner. After dessert. You wait for his arms to slip around your waist, turning your head to watch his reaction while trying to be careful to keep the plates level so your hard work doesn’t end up on the floor. “Hi. Hungry?”

You’ve made one of his favorites and aren’t disappointed by the way his face lights up upon the realization of that fact. He switches his attention from the food to you, his words coming mumbled into the crook of your neck, “Starved.”

A kiss on the cheek just won’t suit. You maneuver to set the plates on the table before turning back to him for a proper greeting. It takes you a second to disengage and try to remember the plan for the evening. “So – anyone do anything special for you today, or are they all waiting until tomorrow?”

Noting the absence of drinks on the table Tom busies himself with the task, snagging glasses from the cabinetry and something cold from the fridge to fill them with as he nods. “Yes. A few well wishes here and there. A few old man jokes tossed about…”

“And you used your years of wisdom to rise above it all, I’m sure.”

Tom’s eyebrows twitch up into arches as he swallows down a sip of the freshly poured drink. The action only slightly delays his chuckled reply. “Careful or I’ll use my years of experience in other ways.”

“Talk, talk, talk.”

He empties his hands quickly, skirting the table to come closer to you. “Who says anything about talking?” You back away from him but your apartment is tiny, there is only so much floor space provided by the kitchen. As he snags you and pulls you into his arms he mock scolds you, “Is this any way to treat someone on their birthday?”

The food is going to get cold but that hardly matters. Your playfulness is interrupted when he jumps away from you and the counter. He’s felt the heat coming from the oven, now reaching out to touch the door once more, “Darling, did you mean to leave this on?”

Before you can stop him he’s thrown the door open to reveal the small molten lava cakes still cooking. “Tom!” You swat his hand away from the oven door and close it once more, hoping the desert will still rise properly. “Damn - well there goes part of my birthday surprise for you.”

He doesn’t quite look sheepish, “Chocolate cake. Is it ready? Can we skip right to that?”

“Can’t eat it right out of the oven? La-va cake. It’ll blister your tongue.” You’re trying to steer him back towards the table towards the meal but he’s still stuck looking at the oven door. “And no, it isn’t supposed to be finished for another few minutes.”

“Part of.”

“Hmm?” He hasn’t moved away from the oven. He almost seems stuck to the spot there in the corner. “Sorry, what?”

“Part of the birthday surprise.”

Crap. He’d caught that little slip. You shake your head at him and try again to turn his attention back to the food ready and waiting on the table. You even get so far as picking up a utensil and scuttling a chair across the linoleum surface to prepare to sit down. “Patience Monsieur. Your birthday isn’t until tomorrow, remember?”

He shrugs, “Close enough.”

If the man could get away with celebrating the full week, maybe even the full month, he would. You shake your head. There’s no use in trying to delay the news. He’s annoyingly persistent when he wants something.

“Alright.” You set your fork down and turn back to fully face him. What had the plan been? Sitting together in the other room, or on the window seat – something side by side. You didn’t exactly have it planned past that. “I’ve decided not to renew the lease. Here. Um.”

You watch his already broad smile seem to grow. Well, at least he’s happy about the news. He doesn’t inhale to speak though, which you assumed he would… What else can you add?

“So um. You know, no need to mess with the door or its hinges?” He is still silent. You shrug, letting out a little laugh, “I mean that’s not the only other birthday gift. I’ve got something for tomorrow. Something material. So you can open something when we’re out with – everyone – And… here’s where you stop grinning and say something to stop me from rambling on and on…“

He finally moves, a small nod all the warning you get before he closes the distance between the pair of you and has you in his arms once more. “I knew.”

You blink. “What.”

Tom laughs at your deadpan reply. “I knew your lease was ending. Erm, been pestering your landlord to know your plans, actually.”

Which suddenly throws his silence regarding when and if you’d be moving home into perspective. He wasn’t asking because he knew, or hoped he knew, your plan of action.

“So,” he gives your sides a squeeze as he readjusts his hold on your waist, “I hope he was an appropriate source. Otherwise I hired someone to get that claw foot monstrosity that you love out of your bathroom for no reason.”

Each of you had been trying to surprise the other. Well, your attempt at surprise made more sense. It was nearly his birthday, after all. You laugh, pressing your forehead to his chest for a moment. “Well,” you exhale slowly, “I’m now Oh-for-Two for birthday surprises tonight.”

“My turn, then.”

He releases you quickly, allowing you to step back as you shake your head in confusion. “What?”

His hands are in his pockets, his long fingers visible through the fabric as he fidgets. “I was planning on waiting till tomorrow, probably. But now seems grand.” Suddenly his cheeks are tinged with color. You watch as he pulls something small and dark from his pocket and drops down onto one knee before you.

“What?” This third utterance is high pitched. It seems to be the only word that you can say for the time being.

“This isn’t a rooftop confession backlit by stars, or a soliloquy delivered by candlelight in the backyard.” He laughs, “The weather we’ve been having – might be for the best. But,” he wiggles, straightening his shoulders and looking up at you, falling silent a moment so he can regroup and start again. “If I’ve learned anything in all my _many_ years it’s that I’m a better man for knowing you. Heaven help me if you say no again but I’m taking all of this as a sign that the time to act is now. Please come home. We’ve proven, I think, that we can weather whatever hardships life may present. I love you. I love you and am absolutely terrified by the look of shock on your face right now.”

He reaches out to grasp at your fingertips, pulling your hand to his lips. The connection with him triggers your voice, allowing you to rasp out a quiet question, “Tom – are you asking what I think you’re asking?”

He fumbles, releasing your fingers and drawing the small container up from how he had it gripped down by his side. “Oh! So nervous I nearly forgot the most important bit.” He glances down and opens the box, fingers shaking, before looking up at you again, “That being – asking you to do so as my wife.”

You haven’t looked away from his face to glance at the ring contained in the box. It doesn’t matter what it looks like, really. It’s a ring. From Tom. And a question from him that needs answering. “Your wife?” The words come out breathless, but you feel the rush of joy as the reality of his question hits you. “Yes, Tom. I – yes. Of course. Yes.”


End file.
